


Mr. Whatchugot

by FalleNess



Category: The Blacklist (TV)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Dirty Talk, F/M, Humor, Keenler - Freeform, Lizzington - Freeform, Minor Character Death, Nudity, Original Character(s), Out of Character, Post-Canon, Resslington, Sexual Tension, Songfic, Strip Tease, Strippers & Strip Clubs, Swearing, Teasing, Undercover Missions, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Violence, undercover as a stripper
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-05
Updated: 2018-06-05
Packaged: 2019-05-18 06:03:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,740
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14847170
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FalleNess/pseuds/FalleNess
Summary: Donald Ressler goes undercover as a stripper to help Reddington catch a woman who had robbed Red blind.





	1. “A-Jack-in-the-Box”

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, dear reader(s)!
> 
> This is my first time writing something in English, and it's not my native language. But thanks to the amazing AlyBlacklist, the final draft looks quite decent! Thank you very much, Aly! 
> 
> And it's also my first time describing something sex-related. I couldn't do it without you, Lilian. Thank you for guiding me through everything! 
> 
> WARNING: I'm teasing LIZZINGTON, KEENLER, RESSLINGTON. 
> 
> The fanmix for Jade - http://8tracks.com/fallenskies19/t-is-for-tease
> 
> Mr. Whatchugot OST
> 
> Depeche Mode — Dangerous  
> Depeche Mode — In Your Room  
> Dave Gahan — Deeper and Deeper  
> David Gogo — This is a Man's World  
> Armin Van Buuren — Sex, Love and Water  
> Arabian Trap — Sheikh  
> Maruv and Boosin — Drunk Groove

_Whatchugot?_  
_Mister, mister, gave me something real hot,_  
_Whatchugot?_  
_Keep it going 'til I tell you to stop._

  
Caro Emerald—Whatchugot

Donald Ressler was someone used to doing his best, no matter how hard it was. Some said his job was glamorous (probably because they'd watched too many movies where hunks in suits and ties saved the world). Some admired the constant thrill that accompanied his job. Others—they didn't care much.

Today was just another average day in a dull office. Well, almost—since this office didn't exist on paper. Donald swiped his ID, retrieved his gun from the security desk, and went to the elevators.

For a few months, there hadn't been any cases coming in from the most notorious criminal the FBI had ever gotten into bed with—Raymond “Red” Reddington aka the “Concierge of Crime”. Ressler was glad: the FBI could finally get down to real work rather than assisting Reddington in hunting down some thug who crossed his path.

As Donald stepped out of the elevator, he bumped into his partner, special agent Elizabeth Keen. Donald and Liz had history together, but not in the way you might imagine.

A few years ago, Donald was ordered to track down Agent Keen as she fled a crime scene (after fatally shooting the Attorney General of the US) alongside Reddington. Soon enough, they’d uncovered a conspiracy to create a new “cold war” between the US and Russia, leaving more questions than answers. And yet, despite everything, their partnership had only grown stronger, and both knew they had each other's back no matter what.

Donald knew that look on her face:

Reddington was back with a new case.

  
***

  
Donald sipped his coffee and asked, “What is it this time?”

Liz resisted the urge to chuckle. Red had sworn her to secrecy until he and Donald talked. On top of that, Liz couldn't believe the Red she knew would have let himself be fooled so easily by a woman. There were lots of women in his life, yet this was the first time he had allowed his heart to take over his mind. Damn, she would've paid to see that conversation.

“He...um... He wants to meet in person.” She glanced at her watch: “Dembe will pick you up in two hours, give or take.”

Weird. Red usually met with Keen, filled her in on the case, and the task force began its investigation. The pattern never changed.

Reddington had never asked for Donald alone. And Donald didn't recall being in Red's debt—a place he wouldn't have wished on his worst enemy.

“Why me?” Donald couldn't shake the feeling something was wrong.

“What the hell do I know?”

They went to do some paperwork, as the cases were piling up on their desks like mountains, growing higher every day. While Liz was trying to put together some clues on a cold case she was working on, her iPhone dinged with a message.

“Dembe's outside.”

 ***

 ...Reddington's suite was as swanky as a $20,000 per night hotel room could be. Donald waited on a peach leather sofa, breathing in the delicate scent of some exotic flowers and wondered what all this was about.

All of a sudden, an ear-piercing shriek echoed somewhere back in the suite. After a thud, it subsided.

A moment later the “Concierge of Crime” walked in and said, “Oh dear, I completely lost track of time. My apologies, Agent Ressler.”

“You know I need to report a crime, if I see one, right?” Donald replied grimly.

“If you see one, Donald.” Reddington said in a manner that made it clear—there was nothing to see unless one wanted to join the poor fellow in that bedroom.

Reddington took out a bottle of “Chivas Regal” and two tumblers from a hidden cabinet in a bookcase. After pouring, he saluted Donald. Donald barely took a sip—he had no intention of getting drunk. But damn, the whiskey was good. The “Concierge” bathed in luxury, whether it was private jets, handmade tailored Italian suits, or the finest drink.

Now, comfortably resting in an armchair, Red wasn’t worried about wrinkling his three-piece light-grey suit. He put aside his drink and said:

“You must be wondering why I brought you here. The truth is, I'm in urgent need of a particular man for a job.”

“Is it official?” Donald asked.

“No, I'm afraid not,” Reddington replied.

“Can I refuse then?” Despite uttering the words, Donald knew deep down—he couldn't.

 If Reddington wanted something, he got it. The devilish grin on Reddington’s face only confirmed the agent's suspicion.

“Cooper owes me a thing or two. Which makes you mine for as long as I need.”

Ressler whispered a curse.

“Cheer up, Donald, it's not that bad. In fact, you'll like it. It'll be a very refreshing experience.”

 Donald doubted that very much. However, sometimes you simply have to bite the bullet.

 “So, what's the job?” Donald asked as he watched the man open a cigar case. Clearly in no hurry, Red brought the cigar up to his nose and inhaled, enjoying its aroma. Then, with one precise movement, he cut off a bit of it, lit it, and took a first draw.

Donald tried to keep his cool, but his jaw occasionally flinched, giving away his growing irritation. Red could have at least pretended he wasn't delighted to get under the agent's skin each time they met.

Finally, letting out a last puff, and looking extremely satisfied, Reddington said, “An extensive inventory was conducted recently, and it has come to my attention that a few of my accounts have been emptied. The bank claims I did it myself. They can't find any evidence proving otherwise.”

“And you are sure you didn't empty them?” Ressler had been an FBI agent long enough to know to take into account all possibilities. People often change their minds, forget things... Sometimes you ask stupid questions because people act stupidly. No one was immune from an error. Even the infamous Raymond Reddington.

“I know who did, Agent Ressler. That's why I need you.” Red poured himself another glass and continued, “Her name is Ella Jones. Miss Jones got greedy, impatient, and I cut her out of my business. She had the audacity to bribe few of my people to get the account data.”

Something didn’t add up. Donald stared at the man, trying to connect the dots. Why couldn't Reddington use his own resources to track her down? What was the catch?

As if reading the agent's mind, Reddington answered his unspoken question:

“I can't find her unless she wants to be found. That's why I hired her in the first place. And yet, as all human beings do, she has a weakness I can exploit.”

“What is it?” Donald asked suspiciously.

“Miss Jones lacks common sense when a certain good-looking man is in her sight. Hold your horses, Donald,” Reddington said as he saw Donald chuckle, apparently delighted to hear Reddington had been played.

Donald couldn’t help himself. If they found her, he’d shake her hand for pulling one over on Reddington before Red’s bullet found her.

“She wasn't involved with me or any of my people, if that matters,” Reddington continued. “Ella has a terrible weakness for a certain type of man. A man like you, Agent Ressler.”

Donald had never thought of himself as a charmer, but if you asked a couple of the ladies who hung out in the bars he occasionally dropped by, they would tell you a different story about a tall, ginger-haired guy, with green eyes and a deep, soft, soothing voice, the sound of which immediately evoked a _let's-continue-this-talk-somewhere-else_ urge.

If Reddington needed him to get this girl by any means, he'd do it. It's not like he had a choice.

“So, she falls for me, and then I give her to you?” Donald asked.

“Not exactly,” Reddington replied. “Ever heard of the strip club Apollo?”

 Donald gaped at him. A strip club? What the hell? The girl was a stripper? “No, never,” he managed. “Does she work there?”

“Humanities aren't your strong suit, are they?” Red smirked. “Anyway, Apollo is the Greek god of art, music and poetry. Like most gods, he's believed to have a breathtakingly divine appearance.”

The Concierge of Crime watched in amusement as the agent's features changed—his full lips tightened, and a barely visible streak pulsed on his neck. He continued, “That makes you...”

“...A stripper? Are you fucking kidding me?!”

Donald could barely hold it together as he boiled with rage and humiliation. As God was his witness, he wanted nothing more than to smash Reddington's head with the whiskey bottle at that moment. Donald was used to doing crazy things when undercover, but this...

He had the feeling Reddington had deliberately chosen him for the job out of the hundreds of men capable of doing it.

“Don't get all testy, Agent Ressler. You haven't heard the best part yet—Elizabeth and I will be watching you. From the first row. So I suggest you get ready for your performance tonight.”

 


	2. “Jade”

_My mind wanders endlessly_  
_On paths where she's leading me_

Depeche Mode—Dressed in Black

 

 Donald was on the phone with Liz as he drove to meet the strip dancing coach, Jade. There were less than 7 hours left for him to learn all the tricks of the trade.

“I'm sorry I didn't tell you, Don. I really am,” Liz apologized.

No one could go behind Reddington's back, unless they were completely insane. Donald couldn't blame her.

“Nah, forget it,” he replied. “By the way, you're also going. 11 pm, Apollo.”

There was a long silence. Clearly, she had no idea. Donald felt strangely pleased that he wasn't the only one who had been played today.

“What the...why?” Liz was baffled.

“Ask him. I've got to go. See you tonight.”

“Good luck, Don.”

“Yeah, thanks.”

They hung up, and he got out of the car.

He stood in front of the main entrance of the male strip club Alejandro. His coach, Jade, owned three male strip clubs, one elite escort agency and hosted BDSM sessions for those willing to pay $3,000 a night for the privilege of being bruised, beaten and abused in every way possible.

Thank God Ella Jones wasn't into any kinky stuff. Donald didn't need BDSM to remind him how many times he had been held hostage, tortured and beaten almost to death, or how often his car had been blown up.

According to Reddington, Jade was 29 and single. She had earned quite a reputation among other club owners as highly disciplined and strict and someone who never overstepped the bounds with her employees.

It was early, so the club’s main entrance was closed. They were supposed to meet at four. Donald glanced at his watch: “3:57.” A security camera above his head flashed for a second, taking a picture. In an instant, the door opened, and a pleasant-looking woman came out.

“You must be Donald, right? I'm Jade. Come on in,” she said, her voice crisp and confident.

The woman was almost his height and very attractive. Her face was slightly tanned, and red lipstick highlighted the perfect curve of her lips. Her dark, pitch-black hair was tied neatly into a long braid. She was wearing a simple white shirt and skintight black pants, which suited her well. She wasn't overly fit or dreadfully thin, just somewhere in between.

Donald followed her inside. He had seen lots of elite clubs during the occasional drug raids the DEA and FBI carried out, and the interior was always the same: a stage, a large lounge area and bar. On the other side of the hall were some VIP booths.

“Want something to drink?” she asked.

“No, thank you.”

“You look like you need something.” Jade gestured for him to sit, and walked to the bar, her heels clicking. She took out a few bottles, a tumbler, and a shaker. Reddington had told her it was an urgent matter. It would have to be a crash course then.

She studied Donald as she mixed the drink. At least he was handsome enough (no need for additional make-up), and he had something typically manly about him. He seemed like the kind of man a woman easily falls for. A knight-to-the-rescue type.

Donald nervously drummed his fingers. He felt completely lost and helpless, stepping into the unknown. Not to mention the nature of the situation embarrassed him to the point he couldn't speak.

Jade gave him a drink. It looked odd. He had never seen anything like it.

“You'll feel much better, trust me,” she said.

Don wasn't so sure about that, but he thanked her politely and took a small sip. It tasted weird, but pleasant, so he emptied the glass. He indeed felt much better.

“Told you,” she grinned, taking away the tumbler.

“What was that?” he asked.

“My boys drink it before performing. Usually it takes only a shot,” Jade gave him a friendly smile, “but I figured you needed a double.” She studied him for a moment with her cat-like hazel eyes, weighing his readiness to go further.

Satisfied with how well he withstood her questioning stare, Jade said:

“I was told you're doing this to impress a particular woman. Have you met her before?”

“No, never, I’ve only seen a photo. Her name is Ella. She’s 43, blonde, slim... Nothing special, really. Just an average woman.”

“That’s your first mistake,” Jade corrected. “There's no such thing as average. She's special. Each woman is. She's the one who needs to fall under your spell, after all. That makes her very special. You need to show her that.”

“Why can't I just go private with her and be done with it?” Donald asked.

“Because,” Jade took her phone out of her pocket, “from what I see here, Ella prefers to watch the men in action. See? She's watching, what, five boys in a row? And here,” the woman swiped another picture, “only now has she chosen one to continue a private session with.”

It just got better and better. Not only did he have to strip, he also had to be the best of the group, so Ella Jones would choose him and not someone else. So much for hoping she would see him, get all hot, and he could just bring her to Reddington.

The task seemed nearly impossible.

  
***

  
For the past hour her “boy” had been very thorough. He’d asked questions, paid attention and, well, was a pleasure to work with. Jade had coached lots of men, and most of them were nothing but whiny bitches until the end of the day. But not Donald. He gave 200%, especially considering he was completely green.

Before they began, Donald had put away his gun and credentials. Jade hadn't gotten a good look, but it seemed like he was a cop. Or sort of. Which explained a lot—the tension, the way he held himself, his overall stiffness. It would have been easier if Reddington had simply told her that.

But that was Raymond Reddington for you.

He demands—you deliver. No questions asked.

The only issue was Donald's shyness when it came to stripping off his underwear. She could tell he was no virgin, so she wasn't sure where it was coming from. Heck, if it was up to her, and the performance were here, at Alejandro, she would let him do the half strip. But things were different at Apollo.

Jade reassured Donald that they could work on the confidence issue later. Right now they needed to focus on his posture, timing, and speed.

Donald was onstage, half stripped. He was grateful that his coach had spared him the embarrassment of having to climb a pole. She had said he could go without it. He was performing his routine for the umpteenth time that hour.

Jade was ruthless; she made him start over from the beginning each time she found anything wrong.

“Too fast. Again.”

Jade admired his persistence, but it wasn't enough.

“The performance is all about alluring. It’s a tease. A game. It's also a trade—people pay you to become their fantasy. But, above all, it’s a seduction. A domination, if you will. Know your body. Know your strengths and use them to your advantage. You do that, and your body becomes a powerful tool, capable of almost anything. Of course, if you're performing at some shithole, you can screw those rules, work for $15 per hour and be happy. But if you want real money...You have to earn it. Tease, provoke, but never let them cross the line—you are not a sex toy, but a performer. You're selling an escape from reality—nothing more, nothing less. And people are willing to pay for it quite handsomely.”

Donald tried his best to follow her instructions but something was still missing. Jade knew it was something internal. He needed to break whatever was causing that mental block or he'd be screwed.

She did know a way, but it went against her own rules. On the other hand, it was Reddington who had asked her to help and for the past few years he had been very supportive and had assisted her in every way possible.

The least she could do was to return the favor.

***

 

“...My God, Donald, we've been over this before,” Jade exclaimed impatiently. “Don't avert your eyes like some 12-year old.”

That was his best performance in the past hour. Donald quietly cursed as he started over. He didn't dare argue, just silently swallowed it.

Their one-sided conversations went like this:

“You can do better than that! Again.”

“If this was for real, I'd ask for my money back. Again, Donald.”

“I'm drier than a desert, Donald. AGAIN.”

“I swear, I've seen guys three times uglier than you and they still made the girls squeal. Again.”

“Where are your hands? Use them, for Christ’s sake!”

“Fast, but smooth, Donald, fast, but smooth. You ever drive a stick? You don't want to change gears too quickly. And when you're turning on your car, you also don't want to release the clutch too early or too fast, otherwise the car stalls. You have to let off the clutch gently, at the same time as you press the gas pedal. You follow me? It's the same here. Heck, it’s the same with sex. I don't need to coach you on that too, do I?”

“Not bad, actually. Keep going like that and maybe, I can give you a time slot here.”

“YES! That's it! I want to see it in your eyes.”

...It was 8 pm. Jade sipped her strongly brewed black coffee as she watched Donald. For the first time she stayed silent, feeling proud of herself. His technique had become decent. At least he wasn't as stiff as he'd been few hours before. He was in charge of his body, felt the rhythm and the timing was almost perfect. And yet, the confidence issue was still there, overpowering him—he would completely lose it whenever he slipped up.

They spent almost an hour discussing the fantasy he was going to be selling (and, hopefully, Ella would be buying). To make him more confident, Jade suggested he could actually dance in a suit similar to the one he usually wore, since he felt most comfortable in it. Besides, what woman doesn't like a sharp dressed man? It's always classy, and almost always a win, so it should work.

The idea of gun-play crossed her mind (sometimes Donald was confused as to what to do with his hands, so that would have helped him), but she wasn't sure he could do it, and, to be honest, she had never seen anyone do it really well, so she gave up.

At some point Jade realized they could replace the gun-play with him playing with his tie. She had almost laughed at his panic-stricken look when he heard it. But even if he had wanted to argue, he had no voice here. They were doing this her way, or not at all.

Finally they took a break so Donald could have some well-deserved rest. But that didn't mean Jade was going to stop coaching him. They might be done with his body, but not with his mind.

As Jade started to list the kinky things women tend to appreciate in men, Donald stared at her in awe as he had never really thought of such things. Why would he, anyway?

“...It's all about pushing the right button,” she smirked, as she poured herself more coffee.

The question escaped his mouth before he realized it:

“What's your kick?”

Jade gave him a long, thoughtful look. For a moment, Donald was afraid she would snap at him for being insolent.

She put away her cup, and looked him straight in the eye:

“Just to be clear—I never open up about anything that isn't job related. Saves me lots of trouble, you know. But for you, Donald,” her voice changed, becoming deeper and smoother, with a bit of a seductive edge to it, “I'm going to make an exception.”

She sat in front of him, her legs crossed. There was something very graceful in the way she held herself, and very alluring.

“Let me think...” Jade paused for a moment, collecting her thoughts. Finally, she said, “I really like it when a shirt is slightly unbuttoned, or a tie is a bit loose. On the other hand, it's also very arousing when every detail is neat and perfect to the point you can't wait to rip everything off, uncovering the flesh you've been longing for for so long.”

Her voice lulled him and his mind wandered. It took a real effort for him to get back on track and focus. Donald wondered if she noticed that. He was certain she had.

He nervously gulped his coffee, trying his best not to give anything else away. He couldn't deny that he'd become attracted to her over the past few hours. Even when she was really hard on him with her insults and criticism.

“Most women dream of a solid, comforting embrace in their lovers' strong and capable arms. We could use that.” Jade grinned, as she pointed to his muscular arms. “A well-defined back is also a turn-on for most women. That's why we are exploiting it in your performance—it's your forte.”

“You say, ‘most women’. Yourself included?” Donald asked.

His increasing desire to get to know this woman was prompting him to ask questions he'd normally prefer to keep to himself. But she had said, though, she was going to make an exception, so he decided to take his chances.

“Not sure if you noticed, but I'm a bit different,” Jade replied. She got up and sat next to him. Much closer than one would do for just a friendly chat. Her knee was almost touching his. She acted as if nothing was happening.

But something was definitely going on.

“Your turn. What’s your kick, Donald?” Jade asked, her honeyed voice filling his ears. He felt exposed and vulnerable. Strangely enough, Donald didn’t mind her seeing him like that.

Of course, he’d had some drunk nights and hungover mornings, just to satisfy basic needs. But with her… he felt as if he was drowning in quicksand, drawn in deeper and deeper. It wasn’t about romance or love. The longings this woman aroused in him had nothing to do with any of that kind.

As Donald tried to keep himself collected, Jade had unbuttoned the first two buttons of her shirt. Unbelievable that she was able to make him feel like a fucking horny teenager with just one simple gesture.

Talk about asserting dominance.

“I…I haven’t given it much thought,” he stammered, trying his best not to sound silly.

“You see, that’s your problem. You should know what you want, Donald. Always. And,” she rose and then casually sat in his lap, continuing, as if that was the most comfortable place in the whole world, “you should anticipate what the other party wants. Take Ella, for example. We know for a fact she is crazy about men like you, right?”

She slid a bit in his lap, adjusting herself.

It was unbearably difficult to follow the conversation, but Donald nodded in agreement, as he noticed her bra shining through her shirt.

It would be much easier if they could just sit and talk.

He felt like he was nailed to his seat and his rational self was rapidly fading away.

Jade casually continued, “She knows what she wants. And where does that leave you? You have to want to be hers. You have to want to make her feel good, to make her believe there’s no other woman like her. But you can’t have an ordinary conversation. Instead, you have to do it with your body.”

His heart was pounding wildly and he could hear his pulse tap dancing.

He didn't dare move as she ran her fingers through his hair, tugging on it slightly. He stifled a pleading groan.

Jade stroked his cheek, drawing herself even closer, her lips almost touching his. Her breath was unusually steady. Her eyes, molten like a dark viscid chocolate, were the only thing giving away her true intentions. Or so he thought.

She still hadn't kissed him.

Instead, she swiftly undid his tie and threw it away, saying, “When you spot Ella in the crowd, don't lose your head. Keep doing what you're doing. Once you go private with her, just play your part. It's not like I'm teaching you how to do your job. Just a friendly reminder.”

Hypnotized by her voice, he was acting on autopilot as he reached out to unbutton her shirt. Jade lightly slapped his hand, “It doesn't work like that with me.”

He didn't know how long he could resist the overwhelming desire to get laid.

Or get her laid.

Meanwhile, Jade leaned over and whispered in his ear, in explicit detail, exactly what she was going to do with him, all the while occasionally sliding back and forth in his lap.

_Un-fucking-believable._

Donald gasped for air, as he felt her fingers slide down to his pants. Jade squeezed him slightly, just enough to make him to groan.

Normally he wouldn't let anyone tease him like that without giving anything in return. But right now he felt like a junkie, completely addicted to the unknown game she was playing, yet desperate for another fix.

Just as this thought flashed through his mind, Jade's hand slid up to his belt. She unbuckled it slowly as she looked him straight in the eye, and smirked with satisfaction at his reaction.

She wondered silently how long it had been since he’d last had sex? Two, three weeks? A month? A bit less then a month, probably. Not that hungry, but the need was beginning to show.

But she was not there to satisfy that need.

Her job was to make him comfortable to the point that he’d be willing to do anything the hot and bothered woman might ask him to.

Then, all of a sudden, Jade gracefully slid off his lap, saying, “Now, clear your head, go on that stage and finally show me what you've got.”


	3. “Dangerous”

_The means you use_  
_Aren't meant to confuse_  
_Although they do_  
_They're the ones that I would choose_

Depeche Mode—Dangerous

 

It was 10 pm. Jade could finally relax since Donald had gone home to change and get ready for his performance. She was able to allow her club to be closed for the night and to send her boys to her other establishments to make money.

She had a very nice, cozy apartment not far from the club, but she sometimes liked to stay late to manage her finances and inventory, despite having people to do that. She preferred to keep everything under control. Everything and everyone.

Because most of the time you have no one but yourself to rely on.

...She had called Raymond Reddington the minute Donald had left.

“...I'm very pleased to hear that. Would you join us tonight?” asked Reddington.

Jade smiled to herself. Red was brisk and confident, though the real implication behind the invitation was crystal clear—he was afraid Donald would blow it. Well, as far as she was concerned, she had taught Donald to the best of her abilities. But, to be honest, her ‘session’ with Don was too good to not have another shot at it.

The minute she started to fool around with him, Jade felt he was somehow different, but she couldn't pinpoint the exact difference at first. He was obviously cocky, and too proud to admit he'd fallen for her game, and yet he hadn't done anything to stop her or to make her do it his way, like most men would.

Some people think it’s all about turning someone on and then leaving. But that’s not quite true.

There’s nothing physical about it. It doesn't matter if you’re naked or clothed. The point is to seduce using nothing except your voice and your body language. Sometimes you may not even touch, but you can turn someone on even without allowing them to touch you. You make them earn the chance to touch by answering your questions.

The extended foreplay suggests that you’re both completely aware of what is happening. You mentally surrender to one another—and then switch roles.

Both learn that nothing can be taken by force. You learn patience, persistence, and get to know one another on in a more intimate way. You can explore your deepest desires on a whole new level.

The body is just a shell. You might get the flesh, but you need to penetrate deeper to get to the mind and soul within. And Jade wanted to penetrate more deeply into Donald, whatever that implied.

They say curiosity killed the cat, but she was too intrigued to care.

“I appreciate the invitation, Raymond. But please, keep my presence a secret.”

“Agreed. 11 pm. He is the fifth in line. I'll book you a table.”

They said their goodbyes, and Jade went back to reading and occasionally smoking a hookah.

Soon the story became boring and after a few pages she quit. Putting the book away, she noticed something on the floor, coiled like a snake.

It was a tie.

Jade picked it up and gently stroked the fabric, as if trying to preserve the feel of it between her fingers. It still had a slight trace of Donald's cologne. She neatly re-tied it.

Then, still holding it in her hand, she took a draw, slow and deep, as her mind wandered somewhere else...

  
***

  
Donald walked into the Apollo through the service entrance. The security guard greeted him with a quick nod and checked his bag. Everything seemed fine and Don was allowed into the dressing room.

It was awfully noisy, stuffy and crammed with people. Finally, Donald found an empty spot in the corner, where he could at least avoid seeing barely dressed people running back and forth.

Jade had selected a dark grey suit very similar to the one he usually wore, but it was tailored specifically for his performance, with hidden zippers so he could remove pieces easily. While undressing, Donald remembered Jade's reaction to his choice of tie. She had laughed, saying that the particular shade was called “jade.”

The time flew by, and soon it was Donald's turn to rise and shine.

“...As you would say, she needs to surrender to you. I have no doubt you can get her to do that,” Jade's reassuring voice echoed in his mind.

Meanwhile, the roar of applause was thunderous outside.

Fully dressed, Donald went backstage.

The walls of the club were shaking from the host's booming voice, “...Yes, show Sebastian some love!... That was hot, don’t you agree?”

The crowd burst into cheers in agreement.

“Good, good. We're just getting started. Quick question, ladies and gents. Who’s hot for a sharp dressed man?”

The club roared with ear-splitting shouts.

“Ah, music to my ears... I hope your drinks are icy enough, ‘cause our next guest is gonna set you on fire...”

The room plunged into darkness, with only a small barely lit spot remaining on the stage.

“Let's welcome...”

“Light them up, ginger,” the staff girl said as she patted his arm and gently nudged him forward. Donald nervously adjusted his tie.

_“...Mr. Whatchugot!”_

 

**_A few hours earlier_**

 

Reddington's black Mercedes pulled up outside her apartment, and Liz hurried to finish getting ready. She chose skinny jeans, a black top and light make up. Her intent was to blend into the crowd, not to stand out.

Liz still couldn't believe she was going. She felt like she was invading Ressler’s privacy. If it was up to her, she wouldn't have gone. The whole thing felt so wrong. It seemed Red just wanted to get even with Ressler for all those years the agent had hunted him.

As she walked out of her apartment, Liz felt the warm, breezy summer air. Every now and then a shimmering full moon disappeared behind the clouds only to emerge a few moments later casting its glow all over the street.

Unfortunately, she wasn't in the mood to admire its beauty.

“What a lovely night...Don't you agree, Elizabeth?” asked Reddington, his voice sending shivers up her spine as she got into the car. It permeated her skin and wrapped her in an embrace with its warmth and softness.

It didn't matter that they had worked together for a long time. Whenever she found herself alone with the man, he gave her goosebumps. And also something else she couldn't quite decipher yet.

Liz refrained from answering and instead blurted, “So what's the plan? How do we know if this Ella is even around?”

“That's why I brought you here, Agent Keen. While Dembe is covering the exit, you will be my eyes and ears inside. By the way, prepare some loose bills, you'll need them.”

Reddington smirked at her panic-stricken expression. She looked utterly disgusted.

Liz couldn’t believe he expected her to act like a horny gawker and to tuck the cash into… Well, she had to hope she would spot Ella before it came to that.

 

_**10 minutes prior to Donald's performance** _

 

...Liz had found a spot to wait near the stage and was holding a drink in her hand. She was looking for a tall blonde woman, who would probably be dressed to the nines.

From what Liz could see, lots of ladies were dressed up. Probably because everyone knew there would be some extra activities and one or two lucky ladies might be picked up to participate. Everyone wanted to shine in the spotlight at least for one night.

The atmosphere in the club was building to a fever pitch. The air was filled with a combination of the cacophony of the music and the cheering screams of the crowd mixed together into one ear-piecing noise.

Reddington had told Liz that Ella had a small scar on her left cheek. So far, no woman matched that description.

Liz made sure she scanned through every blonde woman she could find, but she ultimately went back to Reddington empty-handed. She also gave a few bucks to—what was his name? Javier. Just to avoid raising suspicion. It felt dirty. She liked handsome guys but only in the typical way—dates, romance, sex. Not paying them to perform in front of her.

By 10:50 p.m., there was still no sign of Ella. Meanwhile, the fourth stripper, Sebastian, had just finished his performance.

Reddington's table was in the VIP lounge, behind a thick screen to avoid prying eyes.

“She's not here yet. And if you want my opinion, she won't come,” Liz remarked irritably as she watched Reddington smoke a cigar. How could one man make the act of smoking a cigar so arousing, she wondered, as she moved quickly to banish the thought.

“I'm not interested in your opinion, Elizabeth,” Reddington said flatly as he uncorked a bottle of wine. “I'm afraid I can't share this with you. I need you sharp and focused tonight,” he said as he took a sip.

Liz had to struggle not to roll her eyes.

“Whatever. Just so you know, this whole thing is a waste of time,” she said.

Without waiting for his response, Liz stood up and went to the bar. As she ordered an alcohol-free mojito, Liz noticed a tall blonde woman in her mid-thirties two seats away. Her outfit made her stand out from the rest. She was wearing an elegant black cocktail dress, which was not too revealing but left enough to the imagination, as well as stilettos. A thin golden bracelet shimmered on her delicate wrist.

The woman turned her head and gazed out into the crowd. Her high chin and sharp jawline gave her a noble look.

Liz drew closer in order to get a better view. Yes, there was a scar, heavily concealed by make-up.

“...Our next guest...” The host's voice cut through the loud and vocal crowd.

Ella stood up and approached the stage at the same time that Liz texted Dembe to get to Reddington and make sure everything was ready.

The plan was for Dembe and Reddington to hide in the VIP booth next to Ressler's since—presumably—Ressler and Ella would continue their “conversation” there after the show. And Liz would act as lookout.

They needed to avoid unwanted attention and to keep everything very quiet. Red had probably bribed a few guards, but one couldn't always count on that.

Just as Liz rushed over to the area with the private booths, the club went dark and a booming voice announced:

“...Mr. Whatchugot!”

***

 

Donald trembled with nerves. The curtain had opened and dozens of eyes were watching him with eager anticipation.

_Her._

First row. She cocked her head to the side and regarded him with sheer interest. Oddly enough, something about her reminded him of Jade.

“I don't care what you do, but don't lose your head once you spot Ella in the crowd.” One of Jade's reminders echoed in his mind.

_“...This is a m-a-an's wo-orld...”_

  
As Donald heard the first verse, he cast aside his fears and completely gave himself over to the performance.

“Hook them. Don't be afraid to play with your tie, belt, or even with your hands.”

He felt as if the world had divided in two. On one side, there was the audience. On the other—him on the stage, with Jade's voice guiding him.

He removed his jacket and the crowd immediately responded with an excited cheer.

Ella was watching Donald's every move with curiosity. Her appraising look made him feel like an item at auction.

_“...But it would be noth-i-ing without a woman, or a gi-irl...”_

He loosened his tie slightly. The crowd cheered him again, but he was interested only in Ella's reaction. She kept her eyes fixed on him. A good sign.

He unbuttoned one button and then the next... From his perspective it seemed to take forever, but in reality his movements were quick, yet smooth, just as Jade had instructed. Finally, he unbuttoned the last one. With his nerves finally gone, he felt calm, focused and, actually relaxed.

Female agents got this kind of assignment all the time. Until now he’d never given it much thought. But he was on a mission. And on that mission, he had a target he needed to hit.

And damn, he'd be a total loser if he couldn't.

 

...Elizabeth was trapped in complete darkness. Dembe finally responded and said that Ella had to choose the third booth from the right. Liz had almost howled with laughter at the thought of how she was supposed to make Ella do that.

Distracted by a squeal, Liz unintentionally looked up at the stage.

She felt like the heroine in some cheap romance novel as she shamelessly checked out Donald, seeing him for the first time not only as her partner, or a friend, but as a magnificently attractive man.

The crowd was delighted, judging by the provocative catcalls and loud whistles.

If Liz hadn't known better, she would have thought Donald had been doing this for a long time, given how casual and at ease he appeared to be on stage. Right now he was suggestively playing with his tie. His shirt was unbuttoned. He didn't have a hard six-pack, but rather pleasant average abs. She wondered for a moment what his skin would feel like under her fingers. A bit rough? Or soft? Her face turned red at the thought. She felt like a silly schoolgirl and she was glad Don couldn’t see her.

Liz caught her breath as Donald removed his shirt in one smooth motion. When he turned his back to the audience, Liz couldn’t help but admire the way it was sculpted. It reminded her of the Greek statues she’d once seen in the books used in her high school art class. As he turned around, she couldn't help but stare at his muscular arms.

She wondered for a moment what it would feel like to be held in those arms when he...

_B-z-z-z._

It was her phone. With slightly trembling fingers, Liz swiped the screen to unlock it and read the message. Dembe confirmed that he and Red were waiting for her signal. It took her few seconds longer than usual to type out her response. Her right hand was simply not cooperating.

Meanwhile, the crowd roared, and Liz couldn’t help but look up at the stage again.

Donald had partially—but not completely—removed his belt. He was waiting, apparently asking the crowd to decide whether he should continue or not.

Liz had a hard time averting her eyes, but she forced herself to do so. Enough was enough. Her time was better spent finding a stripper to help create the proper distraction that would lure Ella into the desired booth.


	4. “Deeper and Deeper”

_I'm going down now_  
_Deeper and deeper_  
_Under your skin now_  
_You know that it's right_  
  
Dave Gahan—Deeper and Deeper

 

“Your time starts from the moment you walk into the booth,” a teenage-looking staff girl explained as she securely clasped a purple wristband on Liz's hand. “You may choose anyone who isn't busy at the moment. You have 40 minutes to decide. If you don't find a man you like, someone else takes your spot. In that case, as compensation, you may order any drink or be included in any extra activity.”

Liz nodded and signed the invoice as she realized that half of her monthly salary had just gone down the drain.

The crowd's cheers had become much lewder and harder to ignore. Liz cautiously turned her head to the stage. Donald, now fully naked, was leaving the stage amidst thunderous applause.

“Enjoy your time!” said the girl as she disappeared with the bill.

Trying to ignore the image of her naked partner in her mind, Liz thanked the girl and went to the booths area.

On the wall was a large 45-inch touchscreen where one could choose the desired stripper. Two women in their late thirties were standing in front of it, giggling and swiping the pictures. Liz came closer, watching them.

Suddenly, Liz remembered that Red had told her that this club was famous for the “live” interaction between you and your “choice” for the night. You could even talk a bit, and then decide whether to choose him or not. That's why Ella was such a frequent visitor here.

Their scheme was falling apart like a house of cards.

Presumably the system updated automatically and Donald would soon be added as a free option for everyone. A brand new sign under the screen informed guests that the interactive option was available exclusively from midnight that night to 11:59 am next day.

Liz stepped aside to make a call.

“We have a serious problem. I don't know how, but there's this interactive screen, and anyone can choose the stripper. If someone else chooses Donald...”

Finally, the giggling couple went away, and Liz bolted to the screen. She quickly swiped to Donald, relieved to see his status was “Free.” A few minutes later, she heard excited voices nearby; a couple of other women were coming towards her direction.

And Ella wasn't among them.

 

***

 

Jade was very pleased with the job she had done with Donald. She had watched a couple of the other strippers too so there were some nice boys to compare him to. And Don had been not bad. Very good, actually.

When Jade rose from her table, a brunette in a black top and skinny jeans bumped her slightly as she argued with someone over the phone.

“No, she wasn't there. Tell Red...Oh, I'm very sorry,” the brunette apologized, still pressing a phone to her ear. Jade was sure she had heard the name right.

“You are with Reddington?” she asked, lowering her voice so only the young woman could hear her.

“...Nevermind. I'm trying to find her. I'll let you know,” Liz hung up and looked cautiously at the stranger who was much taller than her and a bit older, too. A huntress type, no doubt. Her outfit indicated that quite clearly: a black fashion belt draped over a perfectly ironed snow-white shirt, a pair of black pants and high laced boots. A woman like that would crush a man, figuratively and literally. Liz felt very uncomfortable under her sharp, slightly arrogant gaze.

It occurred to Liz she must be Donald's strip coach.

What was her name? Something that started with “J.” Janet, Jane...Jade. Her name was Jade.

What else could she have been “coaching” Donald on? Liz almost bit her lip at the thought.

But what if she could help? They were running out of time, anyway. If Ella didn't appear in 10 minutes...

“Yes, I am. I'm Liz. And you are Jade, correct?”

Jade nodded approvingly. The girl in front of her was very average at first glance. Not strikingly attractive, but rather a-girl-next-door type. Liz looked like she was hanging on by a thread. Well, it never hurt to listen first.

“Not sure how much Reddington told you about all this, but I think at this point, I have to say I need your expertise...” Liz explained as she gestured for Jade to come with her.

When they got to the screen, Liz continued, “...We need to move quickly before someone else chooses him,” she hoped Jade could give her some options.

From what Jade understood, they either needed to lure Ella into the booth or draw her out to the exit. Liz suggested triggering the smoke alarm, but that could create a mess, and they'd probably lose Ella, so they discarded that idea.

Liz also said that there would be a lookout at the exit and that Red would be staying in the booth, but would be ready to change his position, if needed.

15 minutes had passed since Donald's performance and it was sheer luck that no one had chosen him yet, especially since almost 10 women had already gone private with their desired men.

Just as Jade was going to suggest another idea, she noticed a tall, stunning looking blonde coming towards them from the hall. Turning to Liz, she said quietly, “She's close. 6 o'clock.”

“We need to make her choose the third booth from the right,” whispered Liz, as she pretended to choose a stripper from the options.

“Play along, then,” whispered Jade. “Oh, c'mon!” Jade said loudly. “What’s taking you so long? It's not a fancy car, you'll forget him the minute we leave.”

“I'm trying here, okay?” Liz replied in an annoyed tone as she heard heels clicking behind her back. She turned casually, as if to talk with Jade, and noticed Ella. Liz had a weird feeling she had seen this woman before. But how, if she had supposedly been busy with Red's empire all this time?

Greeting her with a silly smile, Liz sighed, “I think I'll pass,” she gestured for Ella to take her place.

“It's fine, take your time,” the woman replied, as she gave her a polite smile. It seemed genuine, but her blue, icy eyes stayed emotionless, as if devoid of anything human.

“If she takes her time, we're stuck here forever,” Jade replied as she rolled her eyes theatrically.

Ella smiled again, and Liz felt as if someone had pressed an ice cube against her skin. Liz wondered how Red always managed to surround himself with the most dangerous and deadly people on earth.

Jade and Liz gave Ella some space as they chatted casually and both watched with anticipation. They simultaneously sighed with relief when they saw she had chosen Donald.

Just as Ella paused to decide which way to go, Jade said to Liz, “I heard they change the theme for each booth. I’m not sure what this week’s theme is, but I heard that one is always the most fun, if you know what I mean.”

Jade gestured towards the third booth from the right.

“I'm not the fun type, and you know it. You dragged me here, remember?” Liz replied, as she noticed that Ella had taken the bait.

With Ella gone, Jade and Liz exchanged meaningful glances and smiled.

“Thanks a lot. I'll take it from here,” Liz said, and they shook hands.

Jade wouldn't go so far as to say she had enjoyed it, but she’d done her part. She wasn't the type to get caught in the crossfire, preferring to mind her own business.

She studied Liz for a moment. The girl was a bit younger than her, but it felt like she'd already been through a lot. But Jade wasn't there to make friends. Hopefully she’d returned the favor by helping out Reddington and she sincerely hoped not to be dragged into anything like that again.

Because as much as she liked Reddington, once you were dragged into his world, there was no way to make it out alive.

And she wasn't going to press her luck by sticking around to find out.

“Say hello to Donald for me,” Jade said with a sly grin.

For the first time Liz actually felt jealous, but what could she do? Until tonight she had always seen Donald as a friend, a partner, a colleague. It never occurred to her to think about him as something else. She wasn't blind—she'd seen the way women acted when he was around, but until today it hadn't been a big deal.

Of course, one could break the rules, but doing so often came back to bite you. If you wanted to do your job right, you had to remain objective with your judgment unclouded.

Her thoughts were probably just a side effect of the evening. When it was over, she'd grab a drink or two and forget it like a bad dream.

***

When Donald was finally done performing and came back into the dressing room, one of the teenage-looking staff girls approached him to give him a digital bracelet to indicate he would be working in the VIP area.

Don had already changed into a black shirt, leaving the first two buttons undone, and dark pants, as he waited for Ella in the booth. Red had told him beforehand, in case Liz couldn't reach him to update, that Donald needed to somehow signal Red when he could come in.

It had been almost 40 minutes and his bracelet was still green instead of the purple that would signify he was busy.

Just as he thought that maybe Ella had gotten cold feet, his bracelet blinked and became purple. At the same time the door opened, and Ella walked in.

She was much prettier than the picture he had seen. It was easy to forget she was older than him, but that didn't change the fact she was really hot for a woman of her age.

A deep cut scar on her cheek added some roughness to her overall appearance, like the ones you might see on an ancient Amazonian warrior. Her gaze felt like steel, and her thin lips curved in a serpent-like grin.

She reminded him of a serpent with the smoothness of her movements and her almost soundless steps. Donald could tell she was a control-freak.

It would be quite a challenge to get her to let her guard down.

“I've never seen you before. Are you new here?” Ella gracefully seated herself on the sofa and took a grape from the complimentary plate on the small table.

A straight shooter, no beating around the bush.

Don unintentionally compared her voice to Jade's. Ella's was even more rough and heavier. She must be a heavy smoker.

Making sure Donald was watching her, she caressed the ripe grape with her lips and licked it with the tip of her tongue before taking it slowly into her mouth.

“Kind of. I'm Donald, by the way,” he answered, his voice getting deeper and huskier. He was unaware that he reflexively licked his lips.

“I'm Ella,” she grinned, giving him a fleeting smile. “You seem like a nice guy to chat with, but I've come here to get something else,” she continued as she placed herself in his lap. Donald felt like he was having deja vu.

This time he felt indifferent, just like a puppet on a string, dancing to his mistress’s desires with no excitement whatsoever. Nothing personal. Period.

However, his body reacted like it was supposed to when Ella's spider-like fingers fiercely unbuttoned his shirt. Her strokes were brutal and savage-like.

She suddenly paused at the scar on his chest. This time she rubbed it with less ferocity, but cast a distrustful look at Donald and asked,“Where did you get that?”

“I had beef with a pal, nothing special,” Donald lied. He had completely forgotten about it.

Telling lies was never easy, no matter what anyone might say. Even for someone like him, an agent, who was trained to do that for a living. Each time he felt like he was walking a thin line, hoping not to slip.

“The kind of beef that earns you a stray bullet wound?” Ella asked as she arched her brow suspiciously.

“Guilty as charged,” Donald replied as he gave her one of his Cheshire cat grins. “Trouble seems to follow me around.”

Apparently Ella was not satisfied with his answer as she continued to have a dubious expression on her face.

_Damn it._

Where the hell was Red? He was supposed to have taken her away by now. If Donald had understood Red's plan correctly, Liz should have already told him Ella was here.

Or not.

It seemed the booth wasn't very sound proof, since from time to time he could hear what was going on nearby. And, judging by the sounds, some clients were having an extremely exciting time.

If he didn't get her to let it go, he would be screwed.

Before she knew what was happening, Donald roughly pulled her closer to him. She nearly gasped, caught off guard. His fingers wandered down the silk of her dress. He paused at the zipper and looked Ella straight in the eye. 

For a moment Donald thought she would back off, but she just hissed hoarsely, like a troubled snake, “What are you waiting for?”

The moment the zipper went down smoothly, Ella impatiently attempted to take her dress off, but Donald stopped her with a kiss. She answered him hard, demandingly, almost scratching his neck in feverish excitement, as she felt his hand under her dress.

  
***

  
Ella was almost done, her body shivered one last time from the climax as she arched in Donald's grip. For the first time she considered the possibility of actually buying this guy out from the club. If he was that good using only his hands, what could he do with the rest?

“Forgive me for the intrusion,” the man's voice said from behind the door.

A voice she couldn't mistake for anyone else’s.

Reddington. But how? If only...

Ella glanced at Donald. His face was unreadable.

_Fuck, fuck, fuck!_

Ella couldn't believe she had been played so cheaply. Just as she tried to extract herself from Donald's grip, she heard a gun click.

“It seems I'm a little late to the party,” Reddington sneered as he looked at Donald.

Donald ignored him as he tried his best not to think of what he had been forced to do tonight. He still had a firm grip on Ella who had seemingly become motionless. He could tell it wasn't fear. She was tense and alarmed but at the same time very calm, like a predator before it struck.

Ella had weighed her options. Any sudden movement, and she knew she would take a bullet. But after what she’d done, she was a dead woman anyway.

So why bother?

At least she could die on her own terms.


	5. “Only One Way”

_There's only one way to soothe my soul_

_Only one way (only one way)_

 Depeche Mode—Soothe My Soul 

 

“Tell your lapdog to let me go.”

Ella hadn't even bothered to turn her face towards Reddington, piercing Donald with her stare, full of contempt.

She looked as if she would rip his throat out if she could.

Red nodded meaningfully at Donald.

Don complied, and the woman slid off his lap, adjusted her dress, and zipped it back up. A moment later she raised her hands with her back against the wall. Red, keeping his eyes on her, reached into his pocket.

Handcuffs.

He gestured to Donald, but Ella muttered, “My death changes nothing. They know, Red. They know everything.”

For a moment it seemed that Reddington had aged at least ten years. His face took on a pale, dry mask, and his lips tightened into a thin curve.

As much as Donald wanted to find out what Ella meant, he realized he'd better not dig too deeply. In his experience, anyone knowing at least one of Reddington's dirty secrets ended up dead in no time.

And he had no intention of dying. Not at the moment, anyway.

The agent came closer to handcuff Ella.

“Can I at least have a drink before I go?” she scolded Red casually, as if they were having a chat over a cup of tea.

“Go ahead, one way or another this bullet is all yours,” Red gestured approvingly with his gun.

Ella gracefully walked over to the table, took a glass and brought it to her lips. Well, it was fun. Oddly enough, part of her actually liked Reddington. But when those people had approached her—offering a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity—how could she say no?

From what Ella had been told, Reddington's empire was going to burn to ashes very soon. And she had no reason not to believe that—the cracks in it became deeper and deeper with each day, no matter how desperately Red tried to patch them.

She couldn't bargain for her life after what she had done. Reddington had never forgiven a betrayal. She didn't know the names or faces, anyway, and the trusted messengers had been in touch with her all this time.

The woman sipped the wine as she weighed what to do, her back turned to her “guards.”

“Don't be stupid, Ella,” she heard Reddington say. He kept his distance, preferring to hide behind his gun.

_Coward._

Her eyes froze at the uncorked champagne in the bucket.

The ice pick.

She wondered for a split second if anyone would miss her.

No one. She had no one.

But right now that was a good thing, since she didn’t need to factor anyone else into her decision, no matter how bad it might be.

Donald had a strange feeling that something wasn’t right. He got closer to her, before reaching out to the woman, “Ella?”

In an instant her body crumpled to the floor, the blood spreading across its shiny surface. There was something artful in the way her wrist with the golden bracelet was dipped in crimson.

Donald leaped back from the blood and swore loudly. His fingerprints were all over the place. There were probably a few strands of her hair on his shirt, and a few of his on her dress.

“The cameras have been turned off for the past few hours but they’ll be active again in no time. You need to hurry, Agent Ressler,” Red said as he simultaneously dialed a number.

“I need to report it, we can't—” the agent argued, but Red interrupted him, “Now’s not the time to play hero, Donald. She’s my responsibility, not yours. You merely helped me lure her in here, that's it. Whatever she did after that is not on you.”

Donald was going to keep arguing, but instead completely different words escaped from his mouth.

“How do you even sleep at night?”

It seemed no one was answering the number Reddington had dialed, which was making him very agitated.

“You have to leave or we’re going to have two dead bodies.”

 

***

 

At last the door opened, and Liz saw Donald. He had one of those grave looks on his face.

As if someone had just died.

Whenever one was with Reddington, it was inevitable that there would be at least one or two corpses. Liz was used to that already. And part of her was scared of that terrifying change—being okay with people dropping dead in front of her.

“Where's Reddington?” she asked cautiously.

“Cleaning up the mess,” Donald muttered as he struggled not to snap at Liz.

“The mess? You mean—”

“She's dead.” Donald swore he'd lose his patience if Liz was going to press him for details.

He couldn't understand why he was so furious—he knew Reddington would have taken Ella anyway and that he probably would have tortured and then killed her.

But perhaps he just didn't expect her to die on his watch.

Liz seemed to sense his mood, so she just said quietly, as she touched his shoulder in an effort to comfort him, “You need a lift or something? I can ask Dembe—”

“I'm fine, Liz.” The words came out more rudely than Donald intended so he continued, with less edginess, “It's okay.”

Liz knew it was a lie, because she had told the same lie too many times when something similar happened.

“You did great today on stage, by the way,” she said in an effort to change the subject and hopefully lighten his mood.

“You think?” Donald said with a slight grin.

“You were quite...convincing,” Liz stammered, as she felt her cheeks grow pink. She'd be lucky if he didn't notice it.

“It's all Jade, I just did what she taught me,” Donald replied simply.

Liz felt a twinge of jealousy.

“She says hello, by the way. I saw her tonight,” Liz said as she watched Donald and hoped that her eyes wouldn't betray her true feelings.

Her partner seemed surprised to hear that. And kind of excited. Or maybe it was merely her imagination.

“She was with Reddington?” Donald asked, trying to sound indifferent. But on the inside he felt extremely agitated—intrigued, even.

“No, I bumped into her on the other side of the club. Why do you ask?”

Things were getting interesting.

“She didn't seem like she cared about the story, that's all.”

“Well, she did help me with Ella,” Liz admitted grudgingly. “So maybe she did, after all.” Liz couldn't resist adding, “She just hadn't told _you_ about it.”

Or maybe there was another reason. One having to do with their very insightful “talk” on the sofa at her club.

But Donald kept that thought to himself. Instead, he said, “Whatever. Even if that’s true, it's between her and Reddington.” 

He paused and glanced at his watch.

“Since we're on the subject, are you going home?”

 

...It was 4 o'clock in the morning as Donald drove through the empty streets as they headed to Liz's apartment.

The skies were getting lighter and lighter, painted in coral and orchid hues, the feathery clouds scattered through the surface.

The sun hadn't appeared yet, preferring to spend another lazy hour before rising in full force, bringing the heat and humidity of another summer day.

Donald couldn't help but notice that his partner was very quiet as they drove. It's a common misconception that being a lookout is a piece of cake. While others are in the midst of the action, you’re left out, waiting. You're agitated, anxious and always alert. And you don't know at what minute everything is gonna go down.

For a moment Donald wondered if she’d been affected by his performance, but he brushed the thought aside.

Liz was a big girl, she could handle it.

_...Could she?_

 Finally, they parked in front of her apartment. The neighborhood was almost silent except for a few early birds, walking their dogs or going for a jog.

“Thanks, Don. Text me when you get home, OK?” Liz said as she reached for the keys in her pocket to open the door.

“Okay, mom,” Donald joked. He was about to turn and leave but something made him change his mind, and he said, “Listen, I don't want anything awkward between us—”

“I've seen your naked butt, Ressler, how much more awkward can it get?”

Donald laughed, “You didn’t watch the whole thing, did you?”

Liz glared at him. “Unless you want me to insert this key someplace it doesn’t belong, you'd better get the hell out of here.”

 

***

...When Donald woke up the next day, the night before seemed just a like a bad dream. But when he looked at his phone and saw 10 missed calls from the office and a few texts from Liz saying she would cover for him, he realized that it wasn't.

For the first time he didn't feel guilty for skipping work. They could manage without him. And hell, since Cooper was the one who had loaned him to Reddington, he should have known there was a chance Ressler might not come in the next day.

Well, even if he had wanted to go in, it was already 7 pm. Jeez, he had been exhausted to the point that his body and mind had needed almost the whole day to recover. All of that thanks to Reddington.

Donald was washing his face when he heard the doorbell ring. He wasn’t expecting anyone. And it was still too early for Liz to stop by since her work day wasn’t over yet.

He opened the door, but no one was there. He was about to close the door when he noticed an envelope on the doormat. He picked it up and felt something soft inside.

Donald walked into the tiny kitchen, turned on the light, and sat at the table. He examined the envelope with extreme care.

There was no address, no addressee, and yet it had been delivered right to his place. One thing was certain—it wasn't a bomb—if it was, he would’ve been dead the second he'd touched it.

He took a kitchen knife, and slowly cut the envelope open. Just as he turned it over to empty it, a snake-like fabric slipped out and coiled on the table.

His tie. The one he had worn the first time he met Jade.

“So this must be your kick, huh?” Donald murmured to himself. 

He shook the envelope again until a tiny note fell out.

He'd say it was a business card, but that wasn't actually true. There was no logo, no company name, nothing one would see on a business card.

**“ _Tonight. 10 pm.”_**

On the other side there was an address. If he remembered correctly, it was somewhere nearby the National Gallery of Art. Donald found it quite telling that Jade lived not far from the Capitol.

...The apartment building was really fancy. Probably not less than $40,000 a month to rent. Or more. The security cameras, concierge, mirrored elevators... For a moment Donald wondered if he had chosen the right occupation and then laughed at the thought. The night before had actually spoiled him. Not to mention he’d had to donate to charity the $5,000 he’d earned from his performance because he couldn't keep it.

He rang a bell.

“Who is it?” Jade's voice cracked a bit through the speaker, calm and even a bit indifferent.

“Your 10 pm.” Donald replied.

Instead of answering, the door opened. Jade looked even more dazzling than before. It seemed she wasn't bothered by the fact that she was greeting a guest wearing nothing but a very revealing champagne colored tunic. Her hair was slightly braided.

She looked very different. Very domestic. She leaned casually against the doorjam, and her tunic slid up a few inches.

Jade’s lips broke into a sly smile, “I didn't realize you were that curious, Agent Ressler...” Jade smirked at the man's surprised face and continued, “Don't give me that look, it wasn't that hard to find out.”

For the first time Jade could barely focus on the conversation, because apparently, Donald had indeed paid attention to what she’d said about her kicks. She tried not to devour him with her eyes, but she couldn't resist. He wore a different suit, much darker than last time, and a black shirt with a light gray tie.

Donald had noticed that Jade was shamelessly checking him out, and said as he stepped closer to her, “I think you're slipping since our last time. I can tell from here how turned on you are.”

It wasn't really true, but for a tiny moment Donald had seen it in her gaze as she tried to look less interested than she was. Her eyes had grown a few shades darker, this time resembling black coffee. Don drew closer to her as fabric of her tunic practically rubbed against his suit.

“Try me,” said Jade as she pulled him by his tie, luring him inside.

**Author's Note:**

> The idea came to me after listening some deep house tracks, especially a remix on Madonna's Erotica :'D And having an extra beer or two, too.
> 
> Diego is too gorgeous to keep him in suits and ties all the time :) And I just love Red and Don together. 
> 
> There's no exact timeline (I tried to write it as a 'real' episode for the show), however my Liz is taken from the 1-3 seasons' arc. 
> 
> P.S. Diego, if you somehow see this, I hope you can forgive me for what I'm doing to your character. But Ressler is just way too hot not to do that with him ;'D


End file.
